


DCU Minific Collection

by Imasupermuteant



Category: DCU (Comics), The Sandman (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: Batman needs a Robin, Crossover, Dimension Travel, Dirty Talk, Drabble Collection, Exhibitionism, Gen, M/M, Multi, Trans Male Character, Weapons Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 16:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1517141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imasupermuteant/pseuds/Imasupermuteant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short fic written for various prompts/ideas in the DC Universe.  Some of my older and shorter stories have been consolidated here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tim Drake: Needs

"Hello Bruce."

The image is... Not grainy but certainly not sharp, as though it had been filmed by a cheap camcorder or, as he suspects, the built-in webcam on Tim's laptop. The same laptop which had been bought for him by his father-- his real father-- when he graduated from high school.

The computer was woefully inadequate for anything but the most mundane tasks, and the image has been stretched to fit the gigantic screen of the cray, but he can't be bothered to shrink it down or improve the quality. He's too busy watching what was left of his-- of Tim.

"You're watching this because I've died." Tim says, as though it's the most normal, casual thing he could possibly say, "Or because I've been unconscious or missing for more than four-point-two days."

He almost smiles. It's just like the kid to have his automated death message go off after such an arbitrary amount of time. On the screen, Tim leans back and crosses his legs with a wry smile. It's a small smile, all of Tim's honest smiles were so small as to be imperceptible.

"I want you to know that I'm sorry." Tim says, "I am so sorry and I never meant to leave you alone."

He feels himself wonder at the absurdity of being comforted by the diseased himself. Tim's eyes are serious (always so very serious) but there is real humor in them and real life that he will never see again in person.

"I don't intend to leave you alone for long either." Tim continues, "Because I remember what it was like after Jason and I know that you need someone. A Robin."

His memory presents him with that determination in Tim's eyes whenever he would say that. Batman needs a Robin. Like it was the only real truth in the world.

"If you look in the batarang drawer under the bottom panel you'll find a list of potential candidates for my replacement. I expect you'll be contacting one or more of them within the month."

That "I expect" is more of an order than anything.

"Don't-- Don't ruin yourself over this, Bruce. You don't need to forget me but you do need to continue on. Continue the Mission..."

He finds it amusing that Tim can speak that with obvious capital letters. Can think just the way he does.

"...and don't try to bring me back. I've been there and done that and I don't want it for you."

There's a pause, as though Tim is sifting through all the things he'd want to say and choosing out whatever it is that he needs to say. Tim's eyes harden, his voice is low and serious as he leans towards the camera, his finger obviously headed to end the recording.

"I believe in you, Bruce."

"Tell Dick I love him."

And there it is. He inhales again, sharply, that phrase hitting him as powerfully as the first twelve times he's watched this, the flush and the faint smile that flashes across Tim's face before the screen goes blank.

Dick reaches up to run his hand along the sharp points of the cowl, it's unfamiliar still but slowly becoming part of him in a way he'd never expected.

He thinks of Bruce, lying buried next to Tim through some magical maneuvering on Alfred's part. He'd visited the graves this morning with roses (for Bruce) and a can of grape Zesti (for Tim). He hadn't cried then either.

The recording haunts him. Has haunted him for weeks, no matter how often he watches it or how many times he thinks about it but doesn't.

Dick sighs, pushes back the cowl so he can rub a hand across his tired eyes...

And heads for the batarang drawer to retrieve the list Tim had left for Bruce. No, for him.

Batman needs a Robin, after all.

 


	2. Bart/Tim/Kon: Chafed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bart discovers sex and there is much rejoicing.

Bart Allen is fifteen years old. Give or take.  
  
Give or take a _lot_. Give or take about twelve years.  
  
But, effectively, Bart Allen is fifteen years old. And this is a problem.  
  
For you see, dear reader, Bart Allen became fifteen years old very, _very_ quickly (unlike all the other boys out there who had to take the long way around) and for all that his experience is suited to his teenager body, he still did not receive the full fifteen years of socialization and learning that a normal boy his (apparent) age should have.  
  
Bart has never (until recently) spent time with anyone his own age, has never had those oh-so-important conversations about growing up that occur between pre-adolescent friends. He has never had that awkward but essential conversation with a parent or respected adult during which he could have maybe figured out what, exactly, his penis is _for_.  
  
In fact, the only real information that Bart has relieved on the subject of his body (especially in relation to other peoples' bodies) came from his sort-of uncle Wally and went something like this:  
  
"Bart."  
  
"Hello Wally! What is it? You look awfully frowny today, did you know that that causes wrinkles? How old do you have to be to get wrinkles? I have a cookie."  
  
"That's nice. Listen, you know that you need to use a condom during sex to prevent pregnancy and STDs right?"  
  
"Sure!"  
  
"Okay good. I'm going out, I'll see you next month."  
  
And that was it.  
  
While well intentioned, this conversation left Bart a little bit confused. First of all, he hadn't actually been listening and had been forced to replay the conversation in his head a few times before he actually knew what it was about.  
  
Secondly, Bart had actually _not_ known that you had to use a condom to prevent pregnancy and STDs. He didn't know what STDs were. Nor did he know what a condom was.  
  
Nor did he, in fact, know that Wally had been talking about heterosexual sex. And so Bart, who was mostly interested in members of his own gender, labored under the impression that he could get a man pregnant for nearly a month.  
  
That impression has only changed recently due to the fact that Bart has discovered the internet, and wikipedia, and (of course) sex was the first thing he looked up.  
  
Which is why Bart is now in his current predicament.  
  
Bart Allen is fifteen years old, give or take, and he has just discovered masturbation.  
  
A little late to the party, yes, but Bart has always been a fast learner and he has been dedicated to this particular lesson for a good long while. Having diligently applied himself to the task of getting himself off (and learning all the various ways to do so) for the past day, Bart has noticed some serious problems in the execution of his new hobby.  
  
Basically, Bart is too fast for his own dick.  
  
At first he was doing fine, mostly because he came almost immediately upon deciding he was aroused, but after a few orgasms he calmed down enough to really take things in hand (as it were). Bart found that, when aroused, he couldn't slow himself down well enough and his hand (even with generous amounts of lube which Bart found in Wally's bathroom and _ew_ ) would start moving all on it's own, thus resulting in serious chafing.  
  
Bart is no stranger to chafing. He's had to manage with futuristic fabrics and dry talcum powders for nearly as long as he's been alive. But he can't exactly deal with _this_ chafing and he can't stop.  
  
Bart needs help. And he isn't sure who to talk to about this problem. Another speedster might be a good idea, but the very thought of asking Wally or Jay about anything involving his penis makes him feel vaguely nauseous. Not to mention the fact that Bart seriously doubts that either Wally or Jay are much smarter than the internet, although he doesn't say that out loud because that would be rude and Bart has had 'rude' explained to him at length.  
  
The internet, on a side note, contains almost no information of the relief of superspeed-induced chafing. Bart has checked. A lot.  
  
And so, Bart turns to the most knowledgeable and understanding person he knows. But Tim's on assignment.  
  
So he calls Kon.  
  
Which is how Bart finds himself, on a Friday morning and long before the other Titans are due to arrive at the tower, in a room with Kon and about have his first sexual experience with another person.  
  
It's a little awkward.  
  
"Is that?"  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
"You... Can I?"  
  
"What? Oh. That's nice. Except, um, ow."  
  
"What?"  
  
" _Ow_. Ow! Owowowow. Stop!"  
  
Kon looks down at his hand, wrapped around Bart's cock, and then into his friend's eyes.  
  
"Ow?"  
  
Bart shuffles in embarrassment (as much as one _can_ shuffle when their dick is being held captive).  
  
"I uh... You know... I was, um... I _chafed_."  
  
"You." Kon snorts a little giggle that Bart feels should be insulting but isn't, "You injured your dick?!"  
  
"It'll get better in a minute." Bart reminds him.  
  
" _So_ not the point." Kon's actually _laughing_ now and Bart is feeling a bit put out.  
  
"So what?" He growls, "It'll get better. Not to mention the fact that I figured out how to vibrate my hand doing that. Do you know that many women can _only_ reach orgasm through the sort of direct and intense stimulation of the clitoris that comes with vibration?"  
  
"No, I didn't know that." Kon says before collapsing into laughter once more.  
  
Bart considers running away and leaving Kon to his hilarity but Kon still has his hand wrapped around Bart's dick and Bart was planning on getting laid today. And it would be rude.  
  
So instead he says "Fine!" And reaches his hand into Kon's pants to show him exactly what he's been talking about all this time.  
  
"AHAHA-huh? Um..." Kon blinks, "Oh. _Oh_."  
  
"Who's laughing now?"  
  
"Still me. _Fuck_. How do you even--"  
  
Bart grins. It's a feral grin. A Mean grin. Sexy.  
  
"It's gets better," He says as he speeds up, letting a finger vibrates across the head of Kon's cock.  
  
"Oh. My. God."  
  
"Yeah! Now you see why I was chafed?"  
  
"I see." Kon moans.  
  
"Yeah!"  
  
Two hours later, Tim returns to the tower to find his two best friends sitting on the floor in their underwear with ice-packs in their laps.  
  
"What happened here?" He asks. He doesn't want to know.  
  
"Chafing." Kon groans.  
  
"It's okay." Bart tells him "I'll be better in a minute."  
  
" _I_ Won't!"  
  
He doesn't want to know.  
  
"I'll get you some more ice." Tim says blandly. "If you promise not to tell me."  
  
"Sure thing dude!"  
  
"No deal." Bart says, "We still haven't figured out my problem."  
  
Tim and Bart lock eyes, neither one of the them blinking for long moments. It's a testament to Bart's desperation that he manages to win the staring contest.  
  
"Tell me all about it." Tim says because he really has no other choice.  
  
They do. And Tim solves it like the admirable detective he is. And Bart lives to wank another day.  
  
Which he does. A lot.  
  
Tim helps.


	3. Jason/Tim: Exhibitionism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Exhibitionism + Jason Todd
> 
> I added in Timmy for free.

It started with an alley in Gotham just dark enough to hide two vigilantes furiously making out. And then there was the skeezy diner where Jason sat in the booth across from Tim and casually pressed his bare foot into Tim’s crotch for the duration of their meal. And then there was rooftop, the muscle car, the  _motorcycle_ , and that one undercover mission at the dance club.  

Tim was starting to think that Jason might have some kind of fetish.

He had never felt so  _visible_  before he and Jason started doing— whatever it was that they were doing. After a lifetime of actively trying to keep out of sight, being with Jason was a bit of an adjustment.  

Which isn’t to say that Tim didn’t  _enjoy_  himself. He did, immensely and with only the tiniest hint or paranoia.  But he was starting to think that Jason might be fucking with him. In addition to, well,  _fucking_  him. 

"This is a terrible idea."

"Just get in the chair and spread ‘em, baby bird." Jason said the endearment the same way he used to say ‘replacement’. There was enough lingering hatred and anger to make Tim worry about a sudden and unexpected knife against his throat. He doesn’t like to think about how hot he found it.

"Jason we are in the cave," Tim said. Although he was still sitting down, still spreading his legs wide to give Jason a view of his thoroughly armored crotch. "This is  _Bruce’s chair._ " 

Jason grinned and hit the secret switch to remove Tim’s utility belt without the normal electric shock.  It was only moments before the belt was on the floor, along with Tim’s leggings and jock.  

Tim tried hard not to think about how he was half naked in Bruce’s chair.  He focused instead on Jason’s smug expression, and the press of Jason’s lips against his inner thigh.  

Jason’s hands pressed against Tim’s knees, holding him wide and open as he hovers over Tim’s erection. The faint feeling of his breath made TIm shiver.

"This is a terrible idea," Tim panted.  Jason could stay there, just inches from Tim’s cock, for  _ages_. He’d done it before, and kept his eyes locked with Tim’s the whole time. Licking his lips and grinning while TIm unmade himself. 

"This is the best fucking idea ever,  _little brother_.” Jason hissed and Tim’s entirely  _pavlovian_ penis twitched at the layers of affection and anger he heard.  

Jason licked a painfully gentle line from root to tip and Tim let his head fall back with a groan.  

"Nhn,  _Jason_.” 

"Yes, Timmy?" Jason smirked around Time cock.

“ _Jason_.” Jason went down long and slow.

"Fuck, Jason." 

And then Tim looked up.

"Fuck! Fuck, Jason! Get off!" Tim pushed Jason off, pulling his legs up on the chair in an attempt to cover his quickly wilting erection. 

"Boys." Batman’s voice echoed in the cave like the death-knell of Tim’s sex life.

"Holy fuck." Dick said from Bruce’s side, his eyes wide, "What— Jason?  _Tim?”_

 _“_ Um.” Tim said, looking between his adopted family and his— his Jason. 

Jason was smiling, and it wasn’t a nice smile.  It was the kind of smile that Tim usually associated with imminent violence or dangerous outdoor sex and it was familiar.  

"Out." Bruce growled.

Jason stood and, with a jaunty wave, lifted Time bodily from the chair and threw him over his shoulder.  Tim blamed the sudden shock of being caught  _in flagrante delicto_  for why he allowed this at all. 

"See you at breakfast!" Jason shouted cheerfully as he carried Tim up the stairs. 

Lying on his bed in the mansion, letting Jason press kisses into his collarbone while trying to forget the shocked look on Dick’s face and the slowly burning anger in Bruce’s posture, Tim realized that Jason might have something of a fetish for malicious exbitionism. 

Tim, on the other hand, had something of a fetish for  _Jason_.


	4. Young Justice!Dick Grayson: Real Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for a YJ_anon_meme prompt which asked for LGBT characters struggling with coming out.
> 
> Dick and Alfred have a talk, and there are cookies.

Dick Grayson, known as Robin to his friends, his boyfriend, and a small collection of the Gotham underground, is ridiculously small for his age. _Ridiculously_ small. And Bruce won't let him anywhere near the bench press.  
  
"It's stupid." Dick tells Alfred, kicking his feet against the side of the table (and surprising the bats up ahead) as Alfred injects the Lupron into his thigh, "I could be just as ripped as... _Superboy_ even."  
  
"Is that so, sir?" Alfred says in that perfectly noncommittal way of his, discarding the needle into the handy receptacle and raising one eyebrow.  
  
"Well, okay, maybe not. But it's just not fair! Even _Wally_ is buffer than me."  
  
"I'm sure, Master Dick, that Master Barry is also unlikely to allow young Wally to ruin his joints at so young an age, _buffness_ aside."  
  
"I don't even know what that means." Dick admits, throwing himself into a handstand, "but if Bruce would just let me start on the T, I could--"  
  
Alfred watches Dick walk across the cave on his hands, sighing as he does so, "Is there some reason you wish to, hmm, 'rush things along' Master Dick?"  
  
"I-- _No_."  
  
The eyebrow arches upward.  
  
"Okay, but you have to _promise_ not to tell Bruce."  
  
"I wouldn't dream of it."  
  
Dick inhales shakily, lets himself fall out of his handstand, and looks Alfred in the eye, "WallyandIaregoingout."  
  
"Ah. I see."  
  
"You _see_? That's it? Arrgh!" With that, Dick throws himself up into another handstand. Maybe the blood rushing to his head would help everything be less confusing.  
  
"Yes." Alfred tells him, "I see that you are entering into young adulthood. That you are anxious to... move things along, as it were."  
  
"You have no idea."  
  
"But I would caution you against haste, Master Dick."  
  
"Who's hasty? I'm not hasty. I'm, like, _lengthy_. I'm taking my time."  
  
"Ah."  
  
Dick growls (if growls were high-pitched and squeaky), "Don't 'ah' at me! I don't need that! What I need is--"  
  
The eyebrow, once again, makes itself heard.  
  
"--a _cock_ , okay? Oh my God. I can't believe I'm saying this to you."  
  
"Master Dick--"  
  
"--and what happens when he _finds out_. I mean, I'm not sure if Wally knows this, but he's gay. Really gay. _Queer as Folk_ , gay. Gayer than a--"  
  
"Master Dick--"  
  
"--on nitrous oxide! What's he going to do when he figures out that I'm not packaged as advertised?"  
  
" _Master Dick_!"  
  
Dick's down on the mats, his arms wrapped around his knees and his face drawn into a tight frown. He reminds Alfred very much of the little boy who first arrived at the Manor just five years ago, lost and alone. Even more, he reminds Alfred of the frightened child who came to him in the night to whisper that he was _bleeding_ and he was _wrong_. Alfred and Bruce had taken the problem in hand, they had given Dick the space he needed to find out who he was.  
  
Alfred thinks, perhaps, that Dick is doing just that.  
  
"I would advise you, young sir, to think long and hard about what you want from your relationship with Master Wally. I would hope," he adds, "that you would be able to prevent any-- ahem-- _accidental revelations_ for a good long while. But if it becomes necessary, perhaps you might ask yourself whether the person you wish to attach yourself to would be of the sort to make such severe judgments."  
  
"Err... so if Wally doesn't like me the way I am, he can go shove it?" Dick asks.  
  
"Just so, Master Dick."  
  
"I guess." Dick has his head up now, resting on his knees and looking to Alfred the way many generations of little boys have, "I just-- I just want to be _real._ "  
  
"I do not think that you could be anything _but_ real, Master Dick." Alfred tells him, "Now if you will come with me to the kitchen, I have ginger snaps and cocoa that were prepared especially for the real boys on the premises."  
  
"Bruce not getting any, then?" Dick snarks, rolling himself into a standing position.  
  
"Perish the thought, Master Dick."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally posted on the meme as part of a larger fic. I wasn't particularly fond of the rest of the story, so I've only post the one chapter here. If you're interested in reading the rest, you can find it on my [dreamwidth ](http://imasupermuteant.dreamwidth.org/)under the title 'Revelations'.


	5. Young Justice!Roy/Ollie: Weapons Kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the yj_anon_meme prompt: Weapons kink. Someone has a bit too much fun with Roy's arrows.

"You have been a _very_ bad boy."  
  
"Uhhh, Ollie?" Roy looks up from his books to see his mentor and lover standing over his quiver, inspecting one of Roy's arrows. It's a night off, or at least as close to one as they get, because Ollie is nursing a broken toe (Roy didn't ask).  Roy has taken the chance to wear as little clothing as possible, lounging in a pair of loose pajama-bottoms and little else.  
  
He's hoping that Ollie will get the hint.  
  
"I mean that." Ollie says, "You haven't been taking proper care of your equipment, your electroshock arrow is _fucked_."  
  
"Is not." Roy says from his place on the couch. He's pretty sure that Ollie is just being an asshole for the sake of assholery. Roy checks his equipment everyday.  
  
"It _is_." Ollie growls at him, "The disk is loose, this thing wouldn't shock a flash drive."  
  
Roy glares at Ollie from over the cover of his book.  It's Sunday night, they're not working, Roy has _already_ inspected his equipment today and Ollie is bitching about it.   
  
"Night off, Ollie." He growls  
  
He's been hoping that Ollie will catch on that 'night-off' actually means 'night-off-for-sex' but so far Ollie's been a bit dense.  Like usual.  Roy figures Ollie has a case that's bothering him or another attack of 'oh-god-I'm-screwing-a-teenager-itis', as happens every now and then.  
  
Or maybe Ollie has lost interest in him and is just waiting to find the most diplomatic way to tell Roy that he's going to be picking up a new sidekick and could Roy please not leave his sex toy collection behind when he moves out?  
  
Roy shakes himself and glares at his book again. He's being melodramatic.  Ollie's not going to dump him, in just a few days they'll be on his way to the Justice League headquarters where he'll be one step closer to being a full fledged member of the league.  
  
"Are you being purposefully short with me?"  _There_ it is.  The voice. The 'you've pissed me off and now you're going to enjoy paying for it' voice. The 'let's hold you down and teach you to respect me' voice.  Roy loves that voice.  It's not a voice he hears nearly as often as he would like to.  
  
It's hard, after all, when you have to antagonize your lover into doing you right.  But Roy is good at it.  
  
"No." he lies.  
  
"I think so." Ollie tells him.  
  
"Well what are you going to do about it?" Roy snaps.  
  
Ollie stands and the motion itself is exactly what Roy's been looking for.  He's looming, dangerous, _toppy.  
  
_ "Oh, _please_ , Mister Queen!" Roy taunts, "I didn't mean to be _sh_ _ort_ with you!"  
  
Ollie has an evil (sexy) look in his eyes as he slowly stands.  The arrow thuds heavily in his hands as he swings it. Its wide, heavy head smacks against his hands in a way that is both threatening and seriously arousing.   
  
Roy adjusts himself, watching the arrow and Ollie's face and imagining that heavy bulb coming down on his ass.  
  
"Get the fuck up here and kneel." Ollie says and Roy is there in a second vibrating like a speedster at the opportunity.   
  
He tilts his head up for a kiss, his eyes sliding shut, but what he feels on his lips isn't Ollie's mouth. It's cold, large, tasting of metal and graphite.  
  
"Lick." Ollie orders.  
  
Roy licks the arrow, sliding his tongue along the blunt head of it, wetting it with his spit.  He moans a little as he does it, letting his eyes flick open to look up at Ollie's face.  
  
Roy is _good_ at this.  
  
"Suck." Ollie demands, and Roy leans in to take the arrow into his mouth. It's wider than Ollie's cock, and it's a struggle to stretch his lips around it, but the feeling of the arrow filling his mouth is well word the effort.  That, and the feeling of Ollie's eyes on him. Ollie's approval.  
  
Ollie's approval feels almost as good as deep-throating an electric projectile weapon.  
  
"Good boy." Ollie hums, "Now where else do you think we can put this?"  
  
Roy can feel his eyes going wide in shock and it's _mostly_ not fake.   A little bit scary, yes, but a lot sexy. He's got his pajamas off (and thank the arrow-gods for the fact the he forgot underwear) and is on his hands and knees on the floor before Ollie can do much more than blink and pull out the lube.  
  
"You're a little horny today." Ollie jokes as his cold fingers spread the lubricant along Roy's hole, stroking lightly at his perineum.  
  
"A _little_ , " Roy bitches, "Yeah. Are you going to fuck me or what?"   
  
"Wacht your tongue, kid." Ollie warns him with a sharp slap to the ass.   
  
" _Fuck_." Roy moans at the pain. Ollie's got two fingers in and stretching him already, massaging and working until Roy is a relaxed pile of muscle and arousal.    
  
"Mmmph." The arrow presses in (so _wide_ ) and Roy can feel stars sparking behind his eyelids.  It's so _hot_. The reason why he started fucking Ollie when he was sixteen (and _legal,_ thank you Batman).  Ollie is an _amazing_ top, once you get him going.    
  
"You like it?" Ollie asks casually, "If you would take better care of your stuff we could do this more often. I'm not sure if I want to keep fucking you with a damaged piece of equipment."  
  
"Don't stop." Roy pants, leaning into the press of the arrow against his prostate, " _Please_ don't stop. It's not damaged."  
  
"Oh?" Ollie asks, speeding up, "Maybe if I fuck you hard enough, it'll set off the trigger."  
  
Roy freezes.  The fear goes straight to his cock as he imagines just that, hitting the tip of the arrow hard enough (how hard does it have to be? He can't remember) that it activates the arrow and he gets shocked from the inside out. It wouldn't be enough to kill him, or even hurt him really. But Roy know _exactly_ how much a shock like that would hurt.  " _Please_." He cries.  
  
"Please, what?" Ollie asks casually, "Please don't electrocute you, or please fuck you harder with the thing that will electrocute you."  
  
" _Ooh_ fuck." Roy moans, shivering, "Please don't..."  
  
"Stop?" Ollie asks fucking him harder, "I wouldn't do that to you."  
  
Roy lets out a sound that's half fear and half _extreme arousal_ , panting against the feeling of the arrow and the thought of Ollie inadvertently activating it.  It's hot, the fear, making him sweat and shake and press his head against the carpet.  
  
"Or I could activate it by hand." Ollie suggests, his fingers moving towards the small button on the shaft of the arrow, "and zap you on purpose."  
  
Roy shudder, pre-come dripping from the tip of his dick and he tries to breath trough it all.  The arrow is stretching him, pressing deeply into him, and oh so very dangerous.  
  
" _Please--"_ He moans again.  
  
"Shock you?" Ollie asks with a grin.  
  
" _Please--"_  
  
"Fuck you harder?"   
  
"Fuck!" Roy curses, banging his head against the floor, " _Please let me come_."  
  
"Oh." Ollie's hand slides down Roy's body as he increases the tempo of his thrusts, lightly stroking the head of Roy's cock, "Sure thing, babe. You can come."  
  
Roy does, screaming, his mind fades to white for a moment.  
  
By the time Roy has awareness of the room at large, Ollie has pulled the arrow out, dumped it on the floor, and is looking at Roy with that expression that means he's beating himself up.  
  
Roy looks up from the floor, covered in sweat and his own semen.  He doesn't know how to make Ollie understand that this is what he likes, what he _needs_. That fear makes him come alive. That it's okay that Ollie likes it too.  He's already explained it more times than he can count.    
  
" _Fuck_." Roy says instead, "I can't believe you actually threatened to electrocute me in the ass."  
  
"Yeah, well." Ollie says with a shrug, relaxing (almost all the way) now that Roy has shown he's okay, "It wouldn't have worked anyway. That arrow is totally fucked."


	6. Tim/Kon/Bart: Talking the Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin takes it upon himself to expand the vocabulary of his friends. He's nice like that.

"This is a little awkward, dude." Wally said from his place on the bed. It _was_ a little awkward, Wally was completely nude and covered only by a sheet. In front of him stood his (blushing) boyfriend, equally naked, and behind him...  
  
...Behind him was his best friend, fully clothed and perched on a stool by the headboard. Robin was not blushing, not feeling awkward in the least. Quite the opposite.  
  
"A little awkwardness is worth it to get what you need, right _dude_?" Robin asked, with his notorious giggle, "So long as you're both up for it."  
  
Wally wasn't one-hundred percent sure. Maybe ninety-seven. Still, it was close enough.  
  
"Yes." Superboy said, and Wally added to that with a nod.  
  
"Okay." Robin said. Suddenly his voice dipped low, getting gravelly and deep, oozing sexyness.  
  
"Superboy, you're going to do exactly as I say, do you understand?"  
  
"Yes." Superboy said.  
  
"Good." Robin breathed, "I want you to go up to Wally and take that fucking sheet away. I want to see him naked and on display for us. Then I want you to blindfold him."  
  
Superboy moved to follow his commands and Wally, suddenly without cover and without sight, felt himself starting to get hard.  
  
"He likes that," Robin laughed in that sexy voice, "Do you like it, Wally? Like being on display for me and Supes here? Do you want me to order him to touch you? Fuck you? Is that what you want?"  
  
"I--" Wally started to pant a little, his cock rising to full attention with little more than the words and Superboy's gaze, "I don't know?"  
  
"Let's make him sure." Robin said with a hint of something evil, "Touch his cock, Superboy, slowly. Make sure he feels your hand on his foreskin."  
  
" _Ughn_ " Wally groaned at the feeling, Superboy's hand was light and careful, perfect.  
  
"Very good." Robin whispered, "Now I want you to touch his nipples. Lick them."  
  
"Ohgod." Wally breathed. His eyes moved behind the blindfold, looking for something in the dark.  
  
The sound of Robin's breathing was almost deafening.  
  
"Mmmm." Robin whispered from his place above Wally's head. "I think your boytoy's got a bit of an oral fixation. _Dirty_ mouth, Supey."  
  
Superboy rumbled out a moan which Wally could feel all the way through his body, straight down to his cock.  
  
"I'm going to make him lick you _everywhere_ , Wally." Robin informed him almost casually. These words, like Superboy's inarticulate noise, shot through Wally's body, "I'm going to make him cover you with his tongue until you're sure you'll come just from that. But you _won't_."  
  
Wally's eyes squeezed shut as Superboy started to move downward, licking across Wally's chest and abdomen, paying significant attention to his navel. Sliding a single, long lick down Wally's dick.  
  
"Good _boy_." Robin said, "But I think Wally wants more than just a blow job, don't you?"  
  
"Mmmhmmm..." Super agreed around Wally's cock.  
  
"I think maybe he wants you to fuck him like the dirty whore he is." Robin said, and the little insult, thrown in among all of the other talking, made Wally's back arch and his cock throb.  
  
"He likes being told he's a slut, do you see?" Robin informed them, "He want's you to open him up with your-- _dick_. He wants to feel you in his throat."  
  
" _Ung_ " Wally wasn't sure if it was him or Superboy who groaned.  
  
"Lube him up, Supes." Robin ordered, "One finger at a time."  
  
Wally suddenly felt the cold press of Superboy's large fingers against his ass and wished, desperately, that he could see what was going on.  
  
"He's going to _ream_ you, Wally." Robin said, "You won't walk for a week."  
  
" _Ohhh_ " Wally groaned at the feel of Superboy's fingers stretching him, "Yes, please!"  
  
Robin snickered, "He's getting his power of speech back, Superboy, You'd better fuck him harder."  
  
And Superboy did, pressing in harder and faster with his fingers until Wally couldn't even imagine speaking again.  
  
Suddenly, the fingers were gone.  
  
"Good." Robin crooned, "It's time to fuck him, Supes. I want to see you press that huge cock into his ass."  
  
Wally choked on a scream of arousal.  
  
"Hear that?" Dick said, "He's ready for you, Superboy. He want's to feel you in him."  
  
Superboy moaned, pressing himself into Wally with Wally's legs thrown over his shoulders.  
  
"Say you want it, Wally." Dick ordered.  
  
"I want it." Wally repeated.  
  
"You want him to fuck you."  
  
"I-- I want Superboy to fuck me."  
  
"With his great big super-cock?"  
  
"Super--?" Wally was, briefly, jolted by the _silliness_ of the word but then there was the feeling of Superboy inching just that much more into him and yeah... Super-cock.  
  
"Yes!" Wally cried.  
  
"I--" Superboy panted, "I can't believe you got him to go with that."  
  
"Oh, you'll say worse." Robin informed him, "Fuck him harder."  
  
"Ung."  
  
"Do you like it?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Say it." Robin commanded.  
  
"I like it!" Superboy growled, fucking Wally in earnest now.  
  
"What?" Robin asked, his grin was audible.  
  
"I like fucking him." Superboy ground out.  
  
"With your cock."  
  
"I'm not saying 'super-cock'" Superboy managed to grunt out.  
  
"You just did!" Robin crowed. "Doesn't matter. We're talking about Wally here. His hot little nipples, that beautiful _package_."  
  
Wally groaned.  
  
"His _ass_ " Superboy interrupted.  
  
"Oh yeah," Robin responded, "What do you think about it?"  
  
"I-- Ungh-- I _love_ it." Superboy said, "It's perfect, it fits in my hands..."  
  
"Ooh." Robin told him "Dirty. I like it."  
  
" _Fuck_." Wally moaned, "I'm going to come."  
  
Robin grinned, and said nothing.  
  
" _Please_ ," Wally cried.  
  
Superboy and Robin shared a glance.  
  
"Come, Wally." Superboy said, "I want to watch you come all over yourself while I fuck you. Just-- Fucking--"  
  
Wally came, gasping and reaching with his fingers for something he could not see. Superboy lasted only a few moments longer, pressing into Wally as the other boy clenched around him and gasped.  
  
" _Fuck_ " Robin gasped. For once, out of words.  
  
Superboy and Wally lay together on the bed, wasted and panting, with sweat (and other fluids) drying on their skin. Robin stretched his legs out from his stool, his erection making it a little difficult to stand, and looked down at the couple.  
  
"Good job today, everyone." He told them, "Superboy really got the hang of it at the end there."  
  
"Mmmm, yeah." Wally said, "We could-- If you want..."  
  
"No." Robin told them with a smile. He leaned down to give each of them a passionate kiss. "When you're getting me off, it will be because both of you have learned the ways of the dirty-talk. Until then--"  
  
He gave them a little wave and headed for the door, "I'll be spending a little bit more time in my room."


	7. Jason/Young Justice!Dick: Dimension Hopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for a yj_anon_meme prompt which asked for an underage Dick Grayson crushing on cross-dimensional Jason.

Jason Todd liked to think of himself as an aficionado of bizarre shit. A freakishness _gourmet_ , if you will. So when he awoke one morning after a long night of being a generally immoral badass in a room that he didn't recognize, surrounded by a bunch of deaged versions of Titans past and present, Jason figured he'd probably just gone on a dimension trip and figured he would find his way back home eventually.  
  
It took a bit of explanation and a very tense series of moments in a locked room with this dimension's Batman before he could establish exactly what had happened and what was going to happen to fix it all. Apparently Jason wasn't very trustworthy.  But after a few mind scans in which Jason carefully deflected Martian Manhunter away from the murder section of his resume they decided that he would be kept at the mini-capes base until things could be worked out.  
  
It wasn't so bad, really. Alterna-Bat didn't give Jason that same teeth-clenching pain/anger/betrayal/aroused feeling that he got from the one at home, these kids weren't fucked-up evil versions of the ones he knew from his reality, and they weren't so good as to be stupid. They had cable and a fully stocked fridge in their little mountain hide-out.  There were worse places for Jason to wait while the League figured out how to get him home.   
  
At least, that's what he had thought just moments ago, before mini-Dick had decided to sneak into Jason's room and offer him the use of his young, nubile, _totally illegal_ body.  
  
Jason almost spewed his contraband Jack Daniels across the room.  
  
" _What_?"   
  
"I--" He shuffled his little feet and looked into Jason's eyes in a way that made Jason feel like an asshole. "You're just so _cool_."  
  
Thinking back to his own universe, Jason hoped to all of the dead-Robin gods that this was _not_ how his Dick had ended up losing his virginity.  He wouldn't put it past him; Dick had been a bit of a manwhore for most of the time Jason had known him, and it had to start somewhere.  
  
"I'm not going to sleep with you just because you think I'm cool, kid." Jason told him, even though he probably would with enough pressure and the right amout of booze.   
  
Hell, he thought to himself, in his own universe he was sleeping with this kid's _little brother_. With much less remorse than a guy his age should have for fucking around with a seventeen-year-old.  
  
Although, Jason reminded himself, seventeen and thirteen were two very different Robins.  
  
Baby-Dick kept looking at him with those great-big eyes (uncovered in costume for possibly the first time in front of anyone who wasn't Bruce or Alfred), tearing up a little and looking at him as though he had invented cheeseburgers or Superman or something.  "Fuck." Jason cursed.  
  
"Look," The booze decided for him, "If you promise to never suggest this or anything like this again until you're-- I don't know-- _eighteen_.  You can kiss me."  
  
"Really?" And there he was, in Jason's lap like a puppy (bad thought!), all limbs and enthusiasm.  
  
"Yeah, sure." Jason drawled.  
  
Dick leaned in, almost shaking with excitement, before brushing his lips lightly against Jason's.  It was dry and sweet, the kind of first kiss that Jason would have liked to have.  
  
"Well that was nice." Jason said once Dick had backed off.  He ran his hand through his hair and waited for Dick to get up the nerve to try for a second time.  Soon enough he would be able to kick the kid out without hurting his feelings too much.  
  
"What's going on here?" Unless, of course, they were interrupted by Batman and Jason was forced to leave Mount Justice for the foreseeable _forever_.  
  
Sitting in a dingy cell in the Cave while he waited for the league to finish the (much expediated) dimensional travel device. Nursing a dislocated shoulder and a broken nose, Jason promised himself that he would never associate with Dick Grayson in any corner of the multiverse.   
  
It always ended poorly for somebody, and Jason was getting a little tired of that somebody being him.


	8. Young Justice!Roy: Aponoia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the yj_anon_meme prompt which requested members of Young Justice meeting up with some of the Endless.
> 
> Roy and Despair.

He doesn't recognize the face in the mirror.  
  
It might be the change in costume or the five-o-clock shadow. Most likely it's the fact that he hasn't eaten in a few days because half his cash went to rent and the other half to junk, and the skin is stretching tight across his cheekbones and eye sockets. The reason isn't important. He looks different.  
  
Maybe, he thinks as his hand reaches up to traces the line of his own jaw in the reflection (his left is its right, his right is its wrong), this is the way he was always meant to look.  
  
If Ollie hadn't picked him up and taught him how to hold a bow and what it was like to be a hero, maybe Roy would have looked like this years ago. If he had never spent the afternoons with Robin and Wally, shooting the breeze and occasionally trading playful punches. He's probably just returning to his intended state. Like entropy.  
  
The face in the mirror creases in a frown. Is that what entropy really means? It doesn't matter.  
  
The hand reaches past the face, opening the mirror to reveal the oh-so-normal cabinet behind it. It was one of the reasons Roy chose this apartment. For all that the place is dank and dripping and he can hardly afford it anyway because heroism doesn't pay all that well, it still has a cabinet behind the bathroom mirror. All mirrors, he thinks, should have something behind them.  
  
On the third shelf up is what he wants, a single needle which at one point had been intended to inject life-giving insulin into the subcutaneous fat of a diabetic he had carried to the hospital a few weeks ago. He can remember the feeling of her in his arms, trashing with seizure as he ran and tried to force store-snatched orange juice down her throat at the same time.  
  
He had taken the needles from her purse while the doctors administered the glucagon, and had been gone before she regained consciousness.  
  
The needle was never meant to pierce the vein and, having been used numerous times before, it's almost too blunt to serve its purpose but he takes it down from the shelf anyway. The pieces he needs are balanced neatly on the side of the sink; spoon, candle (lit), tourniquet, junk. The process is automatic, he's already got the mixture of water and powder heating over the candle before he blinks.  
  
He closes the mirror before loading the needle, and again he doesn't recognize the face he sees there.  
  
There's a woman looking back at him. Her hair greasy and her breasts sagging almost out of sight. She's completely naked, but Roy can't find it in him to be disgusted or aroused.  
  
She has something that looks like a fishhook around her finger and at he watches she presses it carefully into her skin at the crook of her left elbow. Blood flows freely from the wound, although she does not move her eyes from his for a moment. It's entrancing. He feels, for a moment, a little less alone.  
  
Roy looks down for a moment and the needle is already sliding into his arm, in the exact same place as the stranger's hook.  
  
He glances back at the mirror but the only face he sees is the one that must be his own. Roy pushes down on the plunger.  
  
He's sitting under the sink (head leaning back against the exposed pipes) when he hears their voices. A familiar sound, deep and sore like she's been screaming.  
  
"He is yours for the time being, my sister." She whispers because he cannot imagine her speaking louder.  
  
He doesn't hear the response because he's flying. But for a moment he imagines something like laughter and the feeling of Ollie's fingers in his hair.


	9. Young Justice!Superboy: Olethros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the yj_anon_meme prompt asking for Young Justice meeting the Endless.
> 
> Superboy and Destruction.

After two accidentally-wrecked buildings and a stern not-quite-talking-to from Superman, Superboy knows only one place where he can recuperate and he heads there almost immediately.  
  
The sun is setting over the Metropolis shipping district by the time Superboy arrives. The feeling of the dirt beneath his feet as he comes to a halt serves only to remind him that he isn't flying.  
  
He sits on the edge of the pier, letting his feet dangle in the water as he looks out over the boats and tankers. The area is almost entirely enclosed in large shipping containers, like he might find on a train or an ocean liner. He heard somewhere that they had started building eco-friendly housing out of these things.  
  
He can't really imagine living in a hideous tin box, but Superboy often has trouble imagining things he hasn't seen. He's spent the majority of his life in a tube, after all, so what does he know about building homes?  
  
His hands, rough and big like a farmer's (which he isn't), are clutched tightly around the edge of the wooden surface he's sitting on. He reminds himself to carefully pull back his hands, finger by finger, so as not to rip off chunks.  
  
Superboy wonders if he'll ever get the hang of _not_ ripping things to pieces.  
  
"Hey."  
  
He looks up, startled. Surely his hearing would have picked up someone approaching? The pier itself is remote, no longer in use and cut off from the rest of the city.  
  
"Mind if I sit?" The man standing next to him seems friendly. He's big (like Superman), broad in his shoulders and taller than anyone Superboy has met. His red hair is barely contained with a cheap drugstore elastic and he's wearing at least three contrasting plaids. Superboy wonders briefly if the man is homeless.  
  
He shrugs. It's not as if the stranger can hurt him.  
  
"Strange place for a superkid like you to be hanging out." The guy tells him, pulling something from his pocket and fiddling with it as he gazes out on the horizon.  
  
It isn't a typically beautiful view, too polluted and cluttered to show off the majesty of nature and too neglected to be a testament to human ingenuity. This is where the big ships go to die.  
  
Superboy likes it here because it is full of broken things that he didn't have a hand in breaking.  
  
"You alright, Kid?" He says it like it's Superboy's name, and maybe it should be. It's not like he has another name to use.  
  
"I guess." Superboy says finally, "It's been a hard day."  
  
"Hard _century_." The man agrees with a snort, "But not the worst."  
  
"Yeah. I--" Superboy doesn't know what to say. That his friends got mad at him for crushing the couch in the lounge? That he tried to write a letter to Superman but could finish it because he kept breaking pencils in a rage?  
  
That he can't fly? If he could just fly, Superboy thinks, all the accidental breaking of things and people might be worth it. If he could fly maybe he wouldn't be so angry all the time.  
  
It's the one difference between him and his... progenitor, after all. Superman is never angry the way he is.  
  
"Here." The guy says, handing over a piece of tightly folded paper.  
  
"Thanks." Super cradles it in his hands (almost as big as the stranger's), "What is it?"  
  
"What is it?!" the man booms, "It's a crane! Can't you tell?"  
  
It looks like a bubble-gum wrapper, "Sure." Superboy says, "There's the wing."  
  
"That's the head." The man grumbles.  
  
"Oh. Okay."  
  
Silence falls again. But it's a nice silence.  
  
"Do you know what I like about this place?" The guy asks after a while.  
  
"The highly flammable oil in the water?"  
  
"It's full of so much _potential_." He says without a blink.  
  
"What?" Superboy looks over, "No it isn't. It's broken. Everything is rusty and old and left behind."  
  
"No way." The man says with a grin, "It's just waiting for the right person to find it and make it into something awesome. Like these crates," He gestures with a hand the size of Superboy's head, "Did you know they make _houses_ out of these?"  
  
"So I hear."  
  
"That's pretty awesome." The guy continues, "I mean, creating something useful out of something that was just going to waste, right?"  
  
"I wouldn't know." It just pops out, Superboy isn't exactly sure why he's telling this (most likely) homeless guy anything.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"I haven't made anything. Ever. I mostly just break stuff." He says finally, looking down at a tightly clenched fist. If he had been holding anything (a person) it would have been crushed to pieces.  
  
"Nah." The guy says, "You've made stuff. You can't help but make stuff. It's part of you."  
  
"What?" It makes no sense.  
  
"Creation and destruction are two sides of the same coin. You can't have one without the other. I don't want to sound like The Lion King or anything, but there's no way you only break stuff, Kid."  
  
Superboy grunts, "Well I'm only _good_ at breaking stuff anyway." He mutters.  
  
"Yeah, me too." The guy tells him with a grin, "But that's why my art is so much more important. If we only went around doing the stuff we were _good_ at we'd be pretty boring. Here."  
  
He hands over another piece of paper, this time it looks more shaped, but Superboy has no idea what the shape is supposed to be.  
  
"A dog?"  
  
"Orchid."  
  
"Sure." He cradles the creation in his hands, it's almost precious.  
  
"Oops." The guy says finally, standing and brushing off his pants. "Pressing business to attend to, got to go."  
  
"Uh. Yeah." Superboy feels better, although he doesn't know how or why. The view is still nice, the air is as clean as it gets in this part of the city, and he's thinking about taking up origami.  
  
"I'll see you later, Connor." The stranger says, and Superboy is saying "Sure, later." before he even registers the goodbye.  
  
When he turns around to look, he's completely alone.


End file.
